Broken Light
by dreamydark
Summary: Holy Rome is no more. And all the fingers point to him, saying "it's your fault" over and over again…until he can't take it anymore.


**A/N: So...this is kind of my personal headcanon put into words...**

**It's set after HRE's death, and kinda angsty...if you're looking for fluff, this isn't it**

**It focuses more on one specific character...summary should've gave him away already (I'm aware my summary-writing skills suck, thank you)**

**I'm going to stop now before I ramble too much...I hope you enjoy the fic~ well as much as you can enjoy angst anyway...**

**(if this seems familiar, it's because it was originally posted on my deviantART account. Link is on profile!)**

**Hetalia (c) Himaruya **

* * *

Holy Rome.

A nation with a lover.

(He thinks of Italy, so kind and helpful, a glimmering star of hope among everyone else, their hands bloodstained with all the wars and uprisings and invasions and everything else that makes them a nation. Italy doesn't know how hard it is to go and deliberately hurt the one you love the most.)

Also a nation with a brother.

(Holy Rome and Prussia were lucky to get along so well. Their nations were usually on good terms with each other, and as humans, they got along fairly well. His mind briefly drifts to England, constantly fighting with his brothers even though now they were united under one flag.)

And now, Holy Rome is no more.

* * *

He wonders what will happen to Italy. Will he be consumed by anger and try to avenge Holy Rome? Or will he become depressed by the death of his lover and retreat into his own mind, dead to the world?

(Of course not, that won't happen. Italy is too pure and innocent for that. That _can't_ happen.)

But that doesn't change the fact that he'll definitely _hate_ the one who killed his lover.

(Lover—the word is almost sacred among nations. He wonders what it's like to actually love someone who loved you back. He has fallen in love before, but that lasted for such a short time and ended so abruptly that his heart aches every time he remembers her gentle smiles and soft kisses.

He still can't bring himself to forget, though.)

Prussia has always been one to fight first, talk later. He can't just declare war on the nation responsible for his little brother's death but he might just pay a…_visit_ to that nation's house.

There's also Spain. He never seemed to care about Holy Rome much but he cares for Italy a lot. There's no doubt Italy will be upset by this, so he will definitely be angry at the country who caused Italy (pure, innocent, never to be hurt) so much pain. Maybe he'll accompany Prussia on his little _visit_ to that nation's house. (Spain always seems cheerful, but when someone he cares about—usually one of the Italy brothers—is hurt, then the change in him is drastic. His eyes turn into a wild, insane snake green color and he lifts his battleax like it's lighter than a feather and completely obliterates the enemy. It's one of the few things that he's scared of.)

And Romano has always hated Holy Rome for some reason, but if he sees his little brother like that, then he'll be upset, and that will just fuel Spain's fire.

There's Austria and Hungary too, almost like a mother and father to both Italy and Holy Rome. They're more level-headed, so they might not directly attack that nation. But there's no doubt they'll be angry.

And the cause for all this is one nation.

_République__ française._

Himself.

* * *

He stared down at Holy Rome, and Holy Rome glared right back, defiance clear in his eyes.

_You can't do anything to me. My love for Italy is stronger than anything, everything._

"Do your worst, you _französisch Hure_!"

"I will not be zhe one doing anyzhing. My leader will be zhe one who decides." His own voice felt foreign to him and he spoke with a strange, practiced tone. Napoléon had already told him _exactly_ what his plans were.

"Then you can tell that bastard to go and—" He suddenly stopped when Napoléon stepped into the room, commanding everyone's attention. France felt a surge of pride (it's despicable, really) when he thought of this amazing military commander. Even here, with his empire slowly crumbling, Napoléon still managed to keep that powerful, imposing aura.

He conversed with France briefly in rapid French, and turned around to face Holy Rome. "We 'ave come to a décision. Your nation will be dissolved and as for _vous_…you will disappear." He spoke in heavily accented English, his voice scornful, because even though Holy Rome was once fairly powerful, with his weak government, he never managed to grow. Even here he looked like a child of eleven, maybe less.

Napoléon was amazing, horribly so. He had just sentenced a _child_ to his death and he could still stay standing there with his face blank.

France felt like someone had torn his heart out.

The only thing that kept him from completely breaking down was his leader's presence, and he looked away from the disbelief in Holy Rome's eyes. "You-you can't!"

"And why not?"

"Because I…I promised!"

"A promise? 'ow _touching_. But zhat _promise_ of yours is not going to change your fate." Napoléon turned and started walking out. "I zhink I am done 'ere. Zhe orders for your dissolution 'ave already been carried out. Zhere is _nothing_ you can do now."

Holy Rome realized that he was right; _he really couldn't do anything_, and simply settled for cursing angrily at his retreating form. When Napoléon was out of earshot, he leaned forward, struggling with his bonds that fastened him to the wall, and spoke in a voice filled with pure hatred.

"I might not be able to anything to change _my_ fate, but until my last breath, I swear I will make yours a living _hell_."

France would have laughed at the truth of that statement if he wasn't already heading out the door, tears starting to prick at the corners of his eyes.

_You already have._

* * *

"Holy Rome…is no more." Again, his voice sounded abnormal, and it was amazing that he wasn't already sobbing as he told Italy about his_ lover_'s death. The one that _he_ caused.

_All my fault._

"What? What…do you mean?" Italy looked at him with innocent, confused brown eyes, and he felt his throat constrict from the effort of trying not to show his emotions.

"Exactly what I said." He could feel the little pieces of his heart breaking into even tinier fragments as he watched Italy slowly figure out what he meant.

"But…but he promised! He wouldn't break a promise…I know he'll come back!"

_I'm sorry. So very sorry. But you'll never forgive me._

Before he could say anything, a hand was around his neck, closing off his windpipe and preventing him from breathing. He started to struggle by instinct, but stopped when he heard a cold, harsh voice behind him.

"You…you fucking _Hurensohn_! How…how could you do zomezhing like zis! You _arschloch_…you killed MEIN BRUDER!" His head was forcibly twisted around to meet the unforgiving and absolutely _livid_ eyes of Prussia.

France felt his vision growing dark from lack of air, but before he fell fully unconscious, Prussia slackened his grip. He fell to the ground, dizzy and disoriented.

He could barely understand what Prussia was saying, but one phrase stood out to him.

_This is all your fault._

* * *

France curls up, trying to stop these thoughts from constantly bouncing around in his head, tormenting him with visions of Holy Rome's defiance and Italy's tears and Prussia's anger and Napoléon's cold indifference. He _needs_ someone to tell him that, no, it's not all his fault, and not everyone hates him.

But that's a foolish, unrealistic thought because it _is_ all his fault and everyone does hate him for it.

France breaks completely, crying and whimpering pathetically, pleading to people who can't hear him, wouldn't listen to him even if they could.

_No one will ever forgive me._

* * *

France stumbles outside, ignoring the looks he gets from his citizens. They don't do anything, too caught up in simply trying to survive after his nation's defeat in the Napoleonic Wars.

Before he even realizes it, he is at the Mediterranean Sea, standing at the top of a steep cliff. He sways with the slightest breeze, his legs unsteady and weak.

_Everyone hates me now...my best friends, my little brother...myself...there's no one who would miss me if I disappeared._

_(Would they even notice?)_

He takes a step forward, his eyes blurry.

_They would probably do better without me anyway. According to them, I'm just a useless pervert and a coward who cares more about his hair than his nation._

_No one cares about what happens to me._

He makes up his mind.

_It would probably be better if I wasn't there, always messing everything up._

He leans forward slightly, just enough to lose his balance, and starts tumbling down, down, down into the unforgiving Mediterranean waters, tears still streaming from his dull cerulean eyes.

* * *

He stops before his toes are off the ground. Something—no, _someone_—is holding his arm in a death grip, preventing him from falling any farther. That hand pulls him back so France is no longer in immediate danger of falling to his death, but doesn't loosen its grip.

(He has just been saved from probably permanent death.)

_Someone actually...cares? About me?_

He turns around, trying to find the identity of his savior.

And a pair of tear-blurred blue eyes meets three pairs of horrified eyes, two green and one red.

"Francis..."

(France just collapses and starts crying harder.)

* * *

**...**

**what did you think? Too OOC? well France really isn't his normal self but considering what just happened...I don't know, maybe too dramatic? Is France too weak in this? *nervous***

**I'm fairly sure the three people at the end are pretty obvious...their identities I mean. The other languages used are basically cursing so...no translation**

**This isn't really meant to be a historical piece, and I don't really know how the nations were after this war...if anything seems off, please tell me!**

**I'm considering writing a sequel, from a different POV and slightly longer...I've actually already started it but I'm not sure if you guys are interested...this might be better as a stand-alone...what do you think?**

**Reviews are love~ (especially since this was my first fanfic...only minor edits were made...) Critique is especially awesome~**


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